


700 Drabble Series

by mvtthewmurdvck



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 10:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvtthewmurdvck/pseuds/mvtthewmurdvck
Summary: A collection of drabbles for the 700 follower milestone onmvtthewmurdvck.





	1. [Billy]: Don't Fall In Love With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy Russo x Reader  
> Prompt: 25. Don’t fall in love with me, I’ll break your heart

Working for Anvil’s HR team had its perks. You were paid a lot more than your old job—especially after you were personally headhunted for the role—and while you knew you had a good reputation, you still weren’t sure why Anvil would want  _you_. 

You were given a free membership to a gym, which always came in handy. You were given self-defence lessons, which you would ya e happily paid for, but your boss put his foot down on that front too. It was also nice that there was  _always_  a host of people you could admire. Including your boss.

Meeting your boss was both a nerve-wracking and confusing moment. Billy Russo was handsome, but he knew it, and you picked up on that immediately the moment you met him. He was suave, cocky, and full of confidence, and as you stood attempting to be resilient, you realised who all the mutterings had been about—Billy ‘the beaut’ Russo. 

A name the female staff called him behind his back. 

From the top of his hair to the tip of his shoe, everything was perfectly picked to make him look as good as he could. It didn’t help that he was born with good genes already only adding to the image he gave off. While you promised yourself you wouldn’t fall prey to his charm—like some of the other women who  _had_  worked for him—there was something about those darn eyes.

It took him a while to realise that you weren’t like the others. You weren’t about to fawn over him just because he held the power, and you weren’t about to bow to him just because he looked like a Greek god. You had more respect for yourself than that. 

It was still hard to remain stony-faced when he came into your office, his broad smile and keen interest pecking at you to lower your guard. You did, but not in the way he  _wanted_. Instead, you became a friend—someone who had inside jokes and knew his coffee order. You found him in your office late at night or early in the morning, just needed to talk, asking for advice you knew he wouldn’t listen too. And when people came who got his blood boiling, it was you he ordered to come to his office, a stack of paperwork in your hand as you sat in the corner reminding him that you were HR,  _not_  his babysitter. 

Apparently, it was your sarcasm that had kept you around, and the reason he enjoyed your company. You were just surprised you weren’t fired. 

And when the two of you worked late, his eyes lingering over you as you reached for files or stretched, and you tried to focus on anything but him. You would be a liar if you said you didn’t fancy him, how could you not? 

He looked like a dream come to life, but you weren’t ridiculous to think he would ever want something  _more_  than a ‘good night’. There were no feelings from him, they were innocent, lonely lingering stares but nothing more. Billy Russo didn’t get feelings, or so the magazines and newspapers proved. You wouldn’t be another headline, you refused. And even though your eyes always moved to his whenever he was close by and your lips had nearly touched one night, when the hour was late and your brain was fried.

“ _Let me take you to dinner,_ ” Billy said one night, helping you with the last bits of paperwork, his proximity still close, even if you had moved away—not wanting his lips to meet yours.

You shook your head, and he seemed taken back, but even more so by your answer.  _“I don’t think you could handle a girl like me, Billy. Even if the steak is the best one I’ve ever had, I’m not a one night wonder. I’m the kind of woman you marry._ ”

His lips parted, and you waited for a beat, for a cocky response, but it never came. You suspected he rarely got knocked back, least of all by someone who would be punching by being with him.

That had been several nights ago, and thankfully you had barely seen him since. Anvil kept him busy with schmoozing, and your job kept you busy with making sure contracts and plans were all filed. Your jobs only ever mixed when he wanted them too, and he seemed to be avoiding you as much as you wanted to avoid him.

It still surprised you when he walked into your local bar, the place suddenly going up in class the moment he entered it. Even if he was dressed down compared to what you saw of him at work.

“Y/N,” he said confidently, pulling the seat beside you out before sliding into it. “What are the chances?”

You rolled your eyes as you swirled your glass. “I’m not buying it.”

“I’m  _wounded_ ,” he laughed, ordering a drink each for the both of you as he playfully rolled his eyes. “Kept this place a secret didn’t you?”

Your lips curled before you could stop them, and you didn’t meet his eyes as you stared straight in front, focusing on the way the glass felt against your fingers.

“I keep a lot of things secret,  _Mr_ Russo.”

Billy chuckled, his elbows being placed on the bar as he continued to watch you. “We’re out of the workplace now, Y/N. Not that you use such a formal name when we’re there”.

You rolled your eyes as you looked down at the bar. “Tell me, was I headhunted for my skills or my beauty?” 

“Would you believe me if I said your skills?” 

Briefly, you turned your head, and you wished you hadn’t the moment you did. “No. And, I’d stop wasting your time, Billy. There’s no chance I’m getting on my knees for  _you_.”

The bartender placed a drink down in front of you both, and you curtly nodded as you straightened your spine. You looked at him, daring him to ask for a ‘thanks’, but he didn’t. His jaw was tense, his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you, finding he was unable to read you.

It was something you had at least mastered, having needed to bury your growing feelings the moment you first heard him laugh. You could see how so many women had fallen prey to William Russo, but you didn’t want to be a notch. And you didn’t want a different job. 

“What makes you think that’s what I want, hmm?” Billy sipped on his whisky purposefully, and you watched him from the corner of your eye. “Seems rather  _presumptuous_.”

Clearing your throat, you placed your glass down before circling a finger around the rim. As you turned your head, purposefully fluttering your lashes, watching as his eyes darted briefly from your lips to your eyes.

“You should stay away from me, Billy. Men don’t tend to make it out alive.” He snorted, and you smirked proudly. “All of them want what they can’t have, and if you’ve not noticed, I don’t tend to roll around in sheets with those who aren’t planning on buying them. And, even if you were capable of such a thing, don’t fall in love with me,” you say as you bring your glass to your lips, “I’ll break your heart.”

Billy smirked, and carefully, and slowly swiped his tongue over his lips. “Confident. I like it.”

“There’s a lot you’ll like about me, Mr Russo. It is an  _awful_  shame you won’t get to admire it fully.”

As you drain your glass—the one you purchased for yourself—your hand claps your bag just as he leans forward. His body halts your movement, and the scent of his expensive aftershave hits your senses forcing you to freeze. You try and focus on being strong, on not being easy. You can see in his eyes he likes the game, the chase; you imagine he likes playing a game of cat and mouse, toying with people until they’re begging for him. Billy seems the sort to play the long game.

You weren’t sure  _you’d_  be the one to make it out alive.

“Is that so?” Billy said as he drops his voice, words laced with flirtation as he raised a finger to beckon the bartender to come over. “Maybe I need to step up my game.”

You slowly place your bag back down, looking up at him with seduction written all over your face as you slowly cross your legs, catching his attention. You watch his already impossibly dark eyes darken, and you wonder what it is like to stare into them as he’s above you, when his hands are holding your sides. You had always been curious, but you held yourself in higher regard than sleeping with the boss just because he wanted a new toy.

“Or,  _you_  can take your game somewhere else,” you offer with a sly smile. “Maybe it isn’t the game that needs changing, but the  _opposing_  player.”

He shakes his head cockily, groaning lowly as he leant back against the barstool. He’s giving you that look again, the one where he pretends he admires you, but you train your eyes on the liquor suddenly filling your glass. You need to concentrate, focus on anything but blushing and showing your hand. 

“You didn’t seem interested in a repeat of  _your_  drink, what about a repeat of mine?”

It feels like a dare, and you suddenly feel him move his chair closer, his knee brushing against yours as he turned his head to your ear, his breath dancing over your skin. You didn’t dare meet his eyes, your faux confidence facade slipping, and the woman you usually was beginning to blossom from underneath.

“C’mon, Y/N. Is it so bad to enjoy a drink with a  _friend_?”

You struggle to swallow immediately, your back so straight it could snap from the strength it’s taking not to bend—not to fall for his spell.

“You are a glutton for punishment aren’t you?” You said wickedly, leaning back casually in your chair, elongating your body as he eyed you up and down. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Billy’s lips moved into a smirk, one you wanted to knock off. “And what warning have you given,  _darling_?”

“That I’ll break your heart.”

He laughed, dipping his head as he slowly lifted it, brushing a few strands of hair back into place. “I’d have to admit I had fallen for you first, and I’m not nearly drunk enough for such a confession.”

You stare, watching as he grasped his glass and took a short sip from it. “And we can’t have that, can we? A weak Billy. You have to be the strongest person in the room. King Billy.” 

Your nervousness barely shows, but you had always been good at hiding behind playfulness and teasing. It was how the two of you communicated, both trying to take down the other.  Billy didn’t shrug, he didn’t speak, not like he usually did. He just held your gaze, taking the air from your lungs with it. 

“Yeah…” Billy said weakly as his chin dipped to his chest, his eyes watching you through his lashes. “But I’d be second-in-line for you. What is a King without a Queen, Y/N?” 

You hold the stare, even as it hurts to do so. You hold your composure, even though you want to throw it out the door. “A man with a good sense not to involve himself with someone he won’t be able to handle, Billy.” 

His lips grew into a grin, and you weren’t sure what it meant. You weren’t sure what part of the playing field you had just entered, but his eyes moved to your drink. “Drink up, Y/N. ” 


	2. [Poindexter] Is That My Shirt?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjamin Poindexter x Reader  
> Prompt: 30. Is that my shirt? + 21. You’re hiding something from me. + G. Proposal

Dex rubbed his face as he closed the door, the three flickering candles bobbing around on the kitchen counter. He listened to the faint sounds of one of your playlists, the soft mellow music dancing around his flat. His eyes didn’t find you immediately, but he knew it wouldn’t be that long till he did. He took a second, basking in the feel of his flat that felt like a home because you were in it.

Counting the mugs on the shelf, seeing the way the tap glistened and the tops were clear and empty. He saw the stack of papers, the ones you had moved to a different shelf but kept perfectly in order. In the place, they had once sat was frame after frame, memories he would always remember—they were imprinted into his brain after all.

He peeled his jacket off, hanging it on the hook as he glanced at the photo frame beside it. Your smile was beautiful, the sun behind the two of you as you glowed brighter than anything he had ever seen. The sight of it made Dex press his hand to his trouser pocket, feeling his wallet with a very special object inside of it. He had been carrying it around with him for days, waiting for the perfect moment, whether it would be the park or a late lunch, a morning coffee or a walk home.

“I didn’t hear you come home.”

Looking over his shoulder, he saw that same smile as you leant against the doorframe to his bedroom—your teeth biting down on your lip playfully. You were always a sight for sore eyes, but tonight you were something else. Your face free from make-up, your hair haloing around your face, your legs bare as you stood in a white shirt that buried you—one for a fact Dex knew belonged to him.

A year ago—maybe longer—he would have minded about his clothes being touched. Dex would have been irked by the crease up the back you would have made or your scent embedded into his collar. He even used to mind when you hugged him unexpectedly or called him a pet name, but he was a little better now—much better than Mercer  _probably_  expected him to be.

“How’s  _Special_  Agent  _Poindexter_  tonight,” you teased, looking him up and down.

Dex rolled his lips, turning to face you as he placed his hand against his pocket—needing to check it was there. He spent a lot of time checking, brief touches and an occasional opening of his wallet, having a need to see it for himself.  

“What?” You spoke again. “That bad,  _huh_?”

He shook his head, using a hand to wipe his mouth as he dug the other in his free pocket. “Is that  _my_  shirt, Y/N?”

You looked down at yourself, crossing a bare leg over the other as your cheeks lightly blushed. Dex expected a faint whisper of ‘ _maybe_ ’ or ‘ _is it_?’ with a coy smile, but he never received one, instead choosing to rest your head on the wood of the doorframe as you surveyed him. He considered striding over to you, closing the space between you and pressing his lips to yours. He didn’t know why, he just felt the urge—felt the need to touch you, to ensure you were real.

Dex hadn’t faced a mirage in a while, but one could never be too cautious.

“If you’re mad, I can take it off—”

“No,” he replied quickly, choosing to take a step closer, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt as you began to grin to yourself. “It… It looks good on you.”

“ _Oo_ , the top button is being undone,” you teased softly. “Dexie,  _must_  be in a good mood.”

He felt his smile grow before he could stop it. Dex found he did it almost instantaneously when he was around you. You brought him so much joy, so much peace. He didn’t feel the need for the tapes as much, finding your kindness centred him—Dex finally understood what Mercer had meant all those years ago.

His north star had a name, and it always had—it was called Y/N L/N.

“What?” you asked innocently, your brows knitting together as you watched him move closer.

Dex shook his head. “Nothing.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Are you hiding something from me, Dexie?”

His jaw tightened, his eyes sharpening as he looked at you. “I really hate that nickname.”  

“I know,” you smirked playfully. “And I  _really_  hate how I have to move the handles on the mugs until they’re straight now, because apparently, I find it nearly as annoying as you when they’re out of place, but  _what’cha_  going to do?”

He wanted to be dramatic and drop to his knee, and say ‘ _this_ ’, but he didn’t feel it suited him. He didn’t emit confidence like the men who would do such a thing. Dex had seen it in a movie; he had heard you ‘ _aw_ ’ beside him, grasping his arm as you curled into him. He knew it wasn’t real. Dex  _wanted_  real. 

He had even watched quite a few videos on how to do it; he had even spent the afternoon thinking up the perfect proposal—he had yet to find one perfect enough for you.

You had brought so much calmness to his life. You had held him when he felt like all the pieces of him had come apart; you had held him up when all he wanted to do was sink to his knees and end it. You were a bright light, a shining sun that brought warmth and sight to his life.

“Dex?”

Your tone had shifted, a worried look on your face as you bridged the gap between the two of you, your palm finding his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin once, twice, thrice.  It was always the same, you knew him better than he knew himself.

Dex focused on your eyes, the way they glowed and sparkled before him as he pulled his hand from his pocket and placed it lazily on your hip. “Y/N?”

“Yeah,” you whispered softly. “What is it?”

He shakily brushed your hair back, watching as your face curled into his touch. His ears began to ring, and his heart pounded in his ears as his chest began to tighten. 

Do it now. Do it, Dex. 

He heard it, clear as if it came from your lips. “Y/N…” Dex said. “Do you want to get married?”

Dex watched as your lips parted, awe dancing in your eyes as you pulled your head back a little as your smile began to grow.

“… Y/N?”

Your brows furrowed as his hand cupped your cheek a little firmer and your eyes began to focus on his. “Yes…” Dex felt his heart skip a beat. “Yeah.  _Yes_! I’d… I’d love to.”


	3. [Poindexter] You're Killing Me, Dex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjamin Poindexter x Reader

“You’re  _killing_  me, Dex?”

He swallowed, staring at your feet before slowly bringing his eyes up to focus on you. The two of you had been fighting for days, nothing ever being resolved. He knew his words snapped at you; he knew he had scared you when his temper broke free of the lead.

There was a raging fire, one that climbed the walls and  _swarmed_  his mind, was continuing to build, and you were at the centre of it all. You were the only thing not caught by the flames, the only part of him left untouched by his self-destruction.

Or so he thought.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you added as your bottom lip quivered, your hand reaching up to clutch at your heart.

He knew it must have been bad. Dex had seen with his own eyes how the light in your eyes had dimmed, and you walked with a heavy heart.

Dex let out a hard breath as though he had been punched in the gut, his hand grabbed for the kitchen counter, needing something stable to keep him upright as you stood, facing him, fear and hurt hanging in your eyes. It was a sight he never wanted to see, something he tried to banish straight from your eyes and rip from your mind.

_Keep her safe. Keep her safe, Dex._

You bit down on your lip, looking up as two tears escaped from your eyes before a third quickly followed down your cheek. Dex watched them. He observed them cut through your makeup, leaving marks on your skin before falling from your jaw to the floor. He had protected her from the city, but not from himself; the city hadn’t laid a finger on her, but his words had.

Dex managed to swallow, managed to shift the lump in his throat. “Don’t… go.  _Please_.”

“Then give me a reason to  _stay_ , Dex.”

It sounded easy when you said it so softly, but it wasn’t. His hand gripped the counter, the fire growing wider, more significant, and he knew it couldn’t be doused alone. It was eating the walls, both of his flat and his mind, and he was so scared to meet your gaze, afraid if he did you’d be burned too.

He heard you swallow followed quickly by a sniffle, and something cracks inside of him, allowing the beast within to escape.

“Fine,” he hears you say faintly.

Dex still doesn’t look up.

Dex doesn’t move until he hears the door shut behind you.

He doesn’t see what is left of his home until he’s counted to five, and when he does, a single tear falls down his cheek. There is nothing left of it; orange and red flames were eating everything, and an anger that flowed through his veins he can’t fight.

_She’s safe. She’s safe._

It’s the only relief he finds; his hands had grasped for a nearby object, the need to expel pain and suffering growing larger than the fire. It doesn’t take long before it is flying through the air, catapulting into the smallest, and last untouched thing. A photograph, one of you smiling as you look at him. Dex watches as it falls from the side table, twisting and turning as it descended until the glass shattered, and the photo crumples inwards as the wooden frame gives in, the walls that protected the picture breaking down.

_You’re safe from him. You’re safe. You’re safe from him._

Dex clenched his fist, the ache growing in his chest as he tried to breathe, tried to think. But he can’t. He  _wanted_  you. He  _needed_  you. He wanted you back, beside him—he wasn’t sure he could fight the holds of anger without you.

Everything felt harder without.

You had been gone only a minute, but it was already difficult to breathe without you.

Dex needed you. The fire needed you—he needed you to put out the flames for him.


	4. [Frank] Tell Me I'm Not Imagining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank Castle x Reader  
> Prompt: 2. Tell me I’m not imagining it + 11. Please, don’t leave

“Tell me I’m not imagining it, Frank. Tell me I’m not imagining  _you_.”

His cold stare cuts through you. The warm one, usually accompanied by a smile, is gone.

Frank hasn’t been the man you knew since he lost everything. Every part of him trampled on and destroyed, only leaving the parts behind that made you worry about the city. Frank had endured more than most could still continue to breathe through, and yet here he stood, tense jaw, straight spine, looking every bit like a soldier. 

“Am I imagining  _you_? Because…”

He lifted his chin slightly, taking eyes off yours. “You’re not.”

You haven’t seen him in so long. Not really.

You had, of course, seen his face in the papers, you had tried to go to the hospital, and you would have gone to the courthouse if you thought it would make a difference. But Frank, he was a man lost out at sea, and you knew you were no raft; you hadn’t been since you were kids, when he stopped the other boys from picking on you and whipping your bare legs with twigs.

“I needed t’ know you were safe,” Frank grunted, rubbing his jawline as he holstered his gun.

You wanted to ask why.

You wanted to push him, and make him tell you why, after all, he had been through, you were even a thought that crossed in his mind. You wanted to demand answers to questions that you knew you couldn’t even speak, and half of you wanted to add verbal scars to the ones he already had. But you knew you couldn’t. 

Because the reason he was here dawned over you, it rained down, washing over you, chilling you to your bones, making the colour drain from your face and joy melt from your soul.

“It’s not over… _is it_?”

Frank met your eyes, sharp, almost  _dead_  eyes. His head was stuck out, the muscle in his cheek flexing and unflexing as he processed your words. 

You hated his silence. You hated  _him_ , even if you knew deep down you didn’t. What you felt for Frank Castle was so close to hate you knew it had blurred merely into nothing, but it hurt to think about—it twisted in your chest, and pulled at what was left at your heart. 

“The murder… the…  _retribution_?” The words fell before you could tug them back, but he didn’t seem fazed. “All that suffering, and… it  _still_  isn’t over?” 

“Y’don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N. Because I know that you know it’s never over. Not until—”

You take a step closer, unfolding your arms from around your waist as you bare your soul, bare your heart and everything else. “Until they’re  _all_  dead? Until there is so much blood on your hands, you can paint a mural?”

Frank bobbed his head slightly, sliding his jaw from side-to-side. “Yeah,” he snorted, and what was left of your heart dropped as he shrugged. 

“You’re a fuckin’  _fool_ , Frank Castle. It won’t bring  _them_  back.”

He flinched, and you expected him to snap. Expected that god-awful moan to come out at him as he lunged at you, taking you down to the floor like you had seen him do to others when they had the cheek to talk to him like that. But it never came, and you wondered if the animal inside of him had been beaten down by grief or if he merely had lost himself in the process. 

Frank licked his lips, crossing his hands out in front of him, standing like he was about to take orders, but you had none to give. He never listened anyway, never then and he wouldn’t now. You turned, needing to pull yourself away from his eyes as you flicked on the light, filling your home with warm lighting and realism. You didn’t meet his eyes directly, but alternately through the mirror, and the reality of who Frank Castle had become met you in the mirror.

He was covered in bruises, dark black welts all over his cheeks and forehead. There were cuts, some minor and some more severe, and your body clenched at the sight. He was still large, more built if that was even possible, but the boy you had first met was still there, still behind his dark eyes. It didn’t matter if you had  _both_  loved and lost, it didn’t matter if your childhoods were so long ago. None of it mattered as you stared into the mirror because to the two of you, no time had passed. Frank still looked like the same kid who took a beating trying to protect you; he still looked like the man who dragged one of your boyfriends from a car because they hadn’t listened when you said no.

“I  _have_  to end this, Y/N.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to fight the welling tears that were building. “And what  _happens_  when you do, Frank? What will you do with the pieces left of  _you_?”

He didn’t move, his eyes scanning room before darting to the corner of the room, avoiding your eyes entirely.

“Please, just…  _don’t_  go. Wherever you feel the need to go from here,  _don’t_.” You said it so simply, so full of softness, you expect it to breakthrough part of his exterior. But it doesn’t. “You don’t need to taint those hands with any more blood; blood doesn’t wash blood. We can go, together. You aren’t alone—”

“You needn't get outta the city, Y/N.”

It was so firm, so cold. It cut, and you knew it would leave a mark. He was asking so much from you, and he  _couldn’t_  even do it with faked compassion; couldn’t even meet your eyes.  

Turning on your heels, you arch your brow. “And why is  _that_ , Frank? Huh? Why the  _hell_  do I have to go anywhere when you are, when you can protect—”

“Because  _you_  matter to me, alright?” His chest is heaving, and your chest tightens as he stares at you, something close to care and love in his eyes. “You matter  _to me_ —and that is a problem. I can’t… I can’t end this and keep you safe, and this city takes, and it takes…” His jaw tenses, his eyes meet yours with precision. “I won’t—I won’t let it fucking take  _you, Y/N_.”

You place your hands out at the side of you, palms facing up to the ceiling as you tilt your head. “It won’t if you stay. If  _you_  stay…” He shook his head, and you knew the battle was lost. It always was. It was the same when you were kids, when he fell in love before your very eyes, all because you were too afraid of being honest even then. 

Losing Frank would have hurt less if you knew it was because he didn’t feel the same, but you carried it with you because you didn’t. You had never known, the ‘ _could have been’_  and the ‘ _shoulda, woulda’_ haunting you late at night.  

Dropping your head, you let out a heavy sigh. “Does it even matter that I love you? Does that become a factor in keeping you here? Do I have to lose you again, because the first time I was happy for you—I loved her  _too_ , but this… I can’t  _forgive_ you for leaving me to cause pain, Frank. I  _can’t_.”

Frank’s shoulders sunk, not a lot, just marginal. But it was enough. It proved he was there, somewhere deep within. It proved that the Frank you knew still lived inside of all the pain that had meshed with muscles; it breathed inside of him the same as it once did. The candle hadn’t burnt out entirely, instead just flickering softly compared to the roaring fire it once was.

“It’s the reason I have to go, Y/N,” he said clearly, and you found the air pulled from your lungs. “Someone knows you matter to me. Knows that you mean a lot to me. I… I can’t let  _them_  hurt you too.”


	5. [Nadeem] When I Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray Nadeem x Reader  
> Prompt: Prompt: 21. You’re hiding something from me + 32. When I say don’t lift that, do you just choose to ignore me consciously or unconsciously?

“When I say,  _don’t_  lift that, do you choose to ignore me consciously or unconsciously?” Ray announced, and you try to smile faintly. “I said when I got home I’d help with that.”

You turned around, the end of your nose bright pink as Ray rested his hands on his hips. You were ill, something you weren’t disputing, but that didn’t mean you could lie around willingly— _especially_  with the holidays approaching.

Dropping the box to the floor, you slowly straightened your spine. Rubbing your forehead with the back of your hand. “Ray… this holiday is more for  _me_  than—”

Closing the gap between you, his hands falling from his hips as he rests them on yours, he gave you one of his looks—the complete head over heels look. “If it matters to you, it matters  _to me_.” His smile widens as you relax, your shoulders falling from your ears as you sniffled. “And,  _honey_ , you’re sick.”

You want to say you aren’t, but your throat feels as though it’s on fire and your nostrils keep changing from one being blocked to the other. But it’s your head that’s pounding, a faint sensation coming over you, and your grateful Ray’s arms are holding you up. Your grateful he saw you before he left for work if you were honest, needing someone to force you to call in and say you weren’t coming in. 

Ray had even offered to stay off with you, but you had shaken your head—even if you wanted nothing more than to curl up against him—refusing to keep him from his duty. Your boredom had set-in the moment you watched his car leave the drive, snow falling down like confetti, showering the world in a beauty you wished you could truly appreciate. But you couldn’t, not from your bedroom—least of all from your bed. Snow was to be felt, or not appreciated at all, which is precisely what you texted him when he checked up on you during the day. 

“How was work today, catch any baddies?” You rasped, your voice cracking as you felt his hands turning you before leading you to your bedroom. “Ray?”

He didn’t speak. Ray never needs to, a calmness that flows from him that seems to settle in your bones. You begin to wheeze, and instantly his hands rub your back, as your own covers your mouth as you cough up what feels like a lung. It’s obvious this illness has gotten you in its grasp, but with his hands on you, and his smile illuminating the hallway, you didn’t protest like you usually would.

Ray helps you into the bed, pulling the sheets back as you slip your legs down on the mattress as he covers you. “You’re beautiful, do you know that?”

Your eyes narrowed, disbelieving him immediately. “My face is swollen, and I think I could give Rudolf a run for his money.”

“Beautifully swollen,” Ray smiled, giving you a winning wink as he draws the curtains. “And I’ll let the guy in red know that you’re after a job.”

“Ass,” you chuckled, patting the duvet down. “You never answered about work.” You watch him flick on the lamp in the corner. “You’re being silent… you’re hiding something from me,” you pouted, pulling the sheets up to your neck.

Ray moved around your bed, sitting beside you as his lips brushed against your forehead. “Choosing not to tell you something isn’t hiding it,” he said smoothly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You have nothing to worry about. I just need you to get better.”

“And I will,” your hand finding his, “but I need you to talk me to sleep… and your day usually does that.”

His laugh falls from his mouth, it’s lively and warm, and you love how it danced around the room. “You’re cute.”

“I try,” you croaked as Ray grinned.

His finger circled against your palm, his other hand knotted in your hair as he continued to look at you. “I  _missed_  you today,” Ray whispered, pressing another kiss to the tip of your nose.

“If you stay in here, you’ll get what I have…”

Ray seemed to consider this, but as his brown eyes wandered over your face, and didn’t change. “I don’t care,” he said. “Do  _you_?”

Half-smiling, you rolled your lips together. You allow time to pass, make him question what you’d say, keeping him on his toes is your MO. “I guess not,” you eventually said, throwing the sheet back. “Get in and cuddle me  _back_  to health, Ray.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is an archived piece originally posted on the tumblr, [mvtthewmurdvck](https://mvtthewmurdvck.tumblr.com/).


End file.
